The Taste of Crimson
by Hoarfrost
Summary: SeifQuist - Enemies they are and the way she liked to keep it. But once she has found her captor, she learns that there is more to the fallen knight than she expected to be. And grow feelings that may destroy her career.
1. Chapter I

My first attempt at a Seifer/Quistis story. Feedback is much appreciated, so is constructive criticism, I don't need flames thanks. Hope ya like. 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters of The Taste of Crimson; all I own is the place that I made up. I might have changed the characters slightly to fit my purpose whatever. Don't trip ya.

_~Hoarfrost; _The Taste of Crimson_, _**November 14, 2003**

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_Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger  
constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,  
garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment,  
not working with the eye without the ear,  
and but in purged judgement trusting neither?  
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem._

**_William Shakespeare_**

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**Chapter I**

Seifer Almasy hated the smell of blood; it reeked his hotel room and offended his clothes. 

If he smelled hard enough, he could tell what his victim ate three hours ago. But if he managed to sniff that hard, he was sure to fall to the ground mentally exhausted. Because the odor of blood stained the walls with the flimsy smell and even the carbon monoxide floating in the air didn't make the smell disappear. As he hoped it was.

But it was all worth it. The adrenaline that rushed through his veins and the crimson staining his hands. It was worth it, seeing the pride that glistened upon his sword. He ruffled his dyed black hair as his eyes rested upon the dead body that lay upon the hotel floor. 

He still hasn't moved from his original spot. His mind constantly dwelling on whether or not he should throw the body from the window. The blood drenched the off white carpet and it spread underneath the body, making an outline.

He scratched his chin, kicking the body once again; making sure the person was dead. He wasn't going to make any false moves. If he was going to get himself jumped, it wasn't going to be by the person he should've been cautious about and killed correctly. 

He smiled. Paranoid no, but extra careful that was him. Hell yes that was him. Too many times where he let himself grow weak and coy, letting himself depend on somebody like a pussy. And after those too many times, his ass almost got killed.

He let out a breath, too many close shaves. Even if it was only twice, that's still twice too many.

He swore to himself, what the hell was he was going to do with the body that reeked of death. That began to turn blue from the liquids inside exploding from the sudden death. He tucked a black cane underneath his pit and sighed. His mind wasn't quite made up but he bent down, slipping his fingers underneath the neck bone. 

He smiled upon the body and dragged it towards the balcony window. The sky was beautiful that night, the stars danced above him and the moon glistened. It was going to be a helluva night. He hauled the body over the rims and watched it drop to the river. 

He glanced at the wallet that was still in his hand. His index finger flipped open leather plastic and inside a picture of a family emerged. The man and what seemed like his wife, with four little ones. He grew curious, slipping out others and finally he reached a picture of a blonde woman with huge tits. Well at least he killed the bastard before the man's wife did. Only Hyne knew what the wife would've done.

Probably surgically removed his balls.

He wiped his hands upon the white jacket that he wore and slipped his body out of it. He held it in his stained hands and tucked it underneath his pits. While strolling towards the door as he listened to the soft sounds of owls crowing. It was his exit cue; he pressed the elevator button with his cane. And with it's painted on golden doors, he walked inside. 

He was appalled that they let him get away with another murder. But it wasn't their first mistake; never let a murderer out of site for a second… they might walk all over ya. He smiled, twirling the cane around in joy as the elevator beeped, indicating that he was on the first floor. Suckers…

_Catch me if you can_… He whispered as he prowled through the lobby with his head tucked down. And the jacket securely tucked underneath his arms. He was waiting for him to be caught for he could laugh in their faces for they could know that he was underneath their noses the whole time. What a joy that would be, to see that he didn't mind at all being caught. He won that was all that mattered.

He stopped before a trashcan and dumped the jacket inside and slipped off his gloves. Throwing them inside also, he glanced around and continued walking down the slippery streets. The streetlamps were dimly lit and the taxies sped through the night. Not even a soul were outside and not a whisper were heard. Good, that was the way he liked it.

Silent.

The way he has been for three years. He wasn't going to say a word; his mouth was sealed for if he opened. Hyne only knew that secrets were to be unfolded and he was going to be the one unfolding them. Like a traitor and she would be blindly furious, like lightening in a storm, silent but deadly. He wouldn't betray her. He wasn't that foolish.

Why, his heart was still bided to hers and love for her was untouchable. She still held him in a special place, made him feel like nobody ever before. She made him worthy. At least feel worthy. Even though he dreaded the nights as he sipped through the darkness, preying for food and a warm body to lie by. But without her… none of that would be possible. He would still be underneath the thin line of the Garden and hell he made a lot of things possible for the others. They should be grateful… instead of hunting him like a fucking dog. But he played their games; he hid when he was supposed to and fought when he could.  

He wasn't giving up so easy; she wouldn't make him her knight he did. His head bent low as he crossed the streets. The bright lights from the dim apartment shown, he sighed looking up and into his window. The murky home of his… Awh but it was all he could afford but he'll be damned if he wasn't proud. Proud to say that…

He shook his head as he jogged up the crumbling cement steps and towards the dark door. He kicked open he door for it was tricky and only opened if it was greatly forced. And he walked inside to the flickering bulbs and stared as the backwards 2 on his door. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and butting the door, flying open.

He flicked on the lights, the only light in the whole damned complex that actually WORKED. And slithered out of his combat boots that was still a bit tarnished. He yawned and threw himself against the sofa that its cotton pushed out through and its springs hung loose. He clicked on his television and stretched across it. 

He wouldn't give up, not in a million years. He winced; his head throbbed, pounding against his head. They were probably fixing the damn transmitter again. He smiled throughout the pain, remembering the thrill he felt as he ripped the cords out of the machine that was located in Balamb's basement. The controller, his controller. He swore as the pain continued to linger. 

His hands trembled as he reached for the pack of cigarette that lay on the table. He pulled out one and slipped the liter into his other hand. He slid the cigarette into his grateful mouth and lit the cigarette, sighing. He closed his eyes as the transmitter began to make faint beeping sound. He leaped off the couch, swearing and muttering as he picked up a few shirts off the floor and into his other pile of clothes. 

They were fixing it. No surprise there, he dropped to the ground… holding his hand in agony as tears welled up in his eyes. Fuck, it hurt. It throbbed like no other. Son of a bitch, they fixed it. No surprise.

The tears dripped unto the wooden floors, and made a small puddle. The beeping and the pain all together ceased, and he was joined again with silence. They were near. He was too tired to bring himself off the ground and to begin running… No maybe he wasn't tired. Maybe he didn't have a place to run.


	2. Chapter II

Once again I do not own Squaresoft… damnation. Not even Squall, poor unexpecting fool. It's going to be a while (like another chapter) before Seifer and Quistis meet up again. And for the better lack of words thanks to the people who reviewed. I didn't expect anything, honestly but please if I'm doing anything slight wrong or anything just tell me. I won't kill you… 

Or maybe I will… 

**P.S. WHO WILL BETA ME? If you would like to please review and tell me or email me at im_nastified@msn.com much thanks!**

_~Hoarfrost; The Taste of Crimson, __November 2003._

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_Glory is like a circle in the water,  
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,  
Till by broad spreading it disperses to naught._

**_William Shakespeare_**__

**Chapter II**

He listened for faint footsteps but heard none. Opening his eyes, a sense of relief raised to his chest but not the panic. No, his heart still thumped passionately like there was no tomorrow and his eyes never seemed to focus. And the reflection from the transmitter that was inserted in his head years ago, still reflected on his floor. Yes, _his floor. He closed his eyes again, never forgetting the fear he felt moments ago. But he liked to forget that he was still a damned coward. Still, not _was_. Still. He exhaled, biting his lips refusing to remove his body from the floor. Like a goddamn bomb was going to be thrown into his ratty window that had glass broken in from the damn neighborhood gangs. Shit, if they did that when he was home, they sure as hell wouldn't be going back home without a few broken limbs. They'll also be locked in the apartment basement that was infested with cockroaches._

Those almost got a chuckle from his lips, almost but not quite. After a few moments passed and no suspicion moving, other than the drunks up stairs that were fighting (again), he rose from the floor. Dusting off the small particles of dusk from his grey trenchcoat and his black pants. He watched a furry white rat scramble across the floor with a piece of cookie from the floor. He rolled his eyes as he ruffled his hair. 

Why didn't those damn things come out when he was fucking sleep? Probably to scare his ass out of his damn household without bringing his food. He snatched a bottle of vodka from his counter and threw off the cap, with a quick gulp, he finished the remainders. Fucking shit, he didn't even have enough to pay for another bottle. It seemed like everyday the grocery stores were trying to put him in fucking poverty. A bottle of vodka was now six dollars and ninety nine cents. They might as well round it two seven twenty, stupid asses. Always trying to fool poor unexpecting drunks and making them think that they are paying less for their daily booze. Bull shit.

He sighed, kicking over a bottle of whiskey out of his way as he journeyed towards his kitchen. Feeling the need to fucking eat, the hunger was unexpecting maybe it was because he was scared. Nawh that was bull shit. It was maybe because the transmitter somehow targeted his stomach and made him hungrier… And for he can eat their poisonous food that will knock his ass out, and have another transmitter (one that WORKS) that can actually track him.

Fuck it, he shouldn't think. Especially when he's half drunk and half scared, he opened his refrigerator sighing as nothing but a canister of butter popped out. He swore as he slammed the refrigerator shut, trying to rethink ways to get food and alcohol into his possession. Hyne, how much closer can he be to fucking poverty? He almost qualified. Oh course, he would have to not have an apartment or at least that's what they said in the city of Bakah. Stupid politics, don't they understand that a grown man was starving and couldn't get work because well… it would be just dumb to show his face up again especially in public. Prowling the night was a different story but working a nine to five job, where some granny may recognize him and call up Squall then have the police arrest him…

_Stop thinking, we already established the fact that I shouldn't think when I'm drunk._

_Sorry, oh Hyne, now he was talking to himself. _Stop thinking_, he reminded himself as he begun to pace. Beer would be nice at the moment but so would a steak dinner. Shit, he began rampaging through his coat jacket, realizing he stolen money from that businessman he killed.   _

_Hallelujah, a twenty dollar bill. Charming._

He glanced at the twenty more closely, realizing the businessman was probably a thug. He ripped the twenty into shreds as he tapped against his temple exasperated. Almost wishing he didn't swear that he would stop his life of crime (and result to booze instead). But shit, he killed somebody, what is so felonyish about stealing (_twenty years of prison) but hell; he is so close to life in prison or death sentenced that he might as well eat before he is killed. Fuck it, he already made up his mind, he was going to eat and drink, sit his ass down and watch the news and be drunk and merry. There was no other way around it and since the businessman he killed/robbed was a conman anyways, then he might as well get his fucking justice… and besides why the hell is the grocery store going to miss… he opened his refrigerator again, milk, bread, some frozen pizza, some Doritos and… __don't forget booze, booze. They wouldn't. _

That would be just stupid if they did. He closed the refrigerator door again and began setting out the door. _Shit don't forget the gunblade. Hah, like he was going to hold up the grocery store with a fucking gunblade, a pistol would just be dandy for what he had to do. He smiled as he began walking out the door. Fuck, if he was arrested at least he was going to be arrested for something reasonable._

_STOP THINKING._

Oh yeah he forgot about that.

~*~

Quistis Trepe tapped her ballpoint against her desk, sighing as the day continued to prolong. Her eyes were closed and one hand was wrapped around a warm cup of coffee that alerted her senses. The sun beamed on her desk, sighing upon the beautiful paperwork that needed to be done and the ringing from her desk phone continued to ring (nonstop, mind you). And occasional secretaries came around her desk to remind her that her daily check ups with Squall was in twenty or fifteen minutes. Every five minutes they would come on as if they didn't see that she had work to be done (work that she hasn't even begun). 

She sighed, continuing to tap her pen. If the day got any worse than she had to call the day off. It was too long of a fucking day as she pointed out before and being assigned to desk job wasn't making the day any shorter. Seemed to get longer as the months passed by or as they continued to move her from job to job, trying to figure out what her talents fit for. 

_Instructor, she wanted to cry, _that's where my talents at, _out but damn if she haven't done that before it might be surprising. Might. _

"Quistis, five minutes until…"

"Shut up and go away now, Rose." 

Rose whimpered and swayed away with her big full hips. The only reason why a twit like Rose ever got hired, if it wasn't for her hips and how she spread her legs every twenty fucking minutes of the bloody damn day… Quistis chuckled to herself as she set her coffee down. See, she was putting herself in a good mood. Dandy.

She walked out her cubical that only sat in it was a computer, a desk that the computer sat on and a VERY comfy chair. On top of the desk was a cup that read "Greatest Friend" (from Selphie to Selphie but decided that she didn't have a gift for Quistis and gave it to Quistis), that was filled with trash, because Quistis already had a pen collector. A pile of neon yellow, pink and green sticky notes that read random important things and a stack full of paperwork that she hasn't even touched since she filled up her famous coffee mug (black no lettering on it) with exhilarating, marvelous and nutritious coffee. She was glad that she could be out of her stuffy cubical.

She walked down the pasty halls of Balamb, occasional pictures of the heroes of Balamb Garden, including herself but most days she can avoid her picture. A few awards and trophies, showing the others from different Gardens that "_yes we do kick ass _everything _and we are the best_" and a royal blue carpet that rolled down the floor every morning and put up every night. She turned right and watched the big monogamy door open. As if Squall could read her mind, he greeted her and invited her inside, like she had a choice. All she wanted to do was to decline and go back to her stuffy but clean desk. 

She smiled and nodded her head she walked inside the bland walls of freshly painted black. A few scattered black leather furniture here and there and the light from the "outside" world blocked out for the black heavy drapes covered it. Yep, it was Squall, oh and on his desk was stacked with "CONFIDENTAL" stamped vanilla folders and a large picture of Rinoa and himself in Trabian Mountains. She felt right at home. She sat down, in front of him, clasping her hands together and setting them in her lap.

"Morning," He nodded as he pulled out a couple sheets of paper, "As you may well know we're conducting a search for Almasy. We have spotted him many places, including Trabia, Galbadia and even Deiling. There were times where we might have lost him but I'm only saying that we were reloading our guns," A snort came from Quistis, "Anyhow, he has been yet found again. He is under suspicion of killing a Galbadian conman and a few other dumplings along the way. But that isn't important, what is important is I'm sending you on this mission. It's important you succeed or you'll be failing our Garden and letting the Trabia's get him before we do. Now, let me remind you, all the Gardens are after his arrest, I just prefer to get him first since we've been tracking him for quite a while. We know of his locations and quite sometimes his actions."

"What's the mission?"

"Find out his motives, find out what he was thinking when he became the Sorceress' Knight and when he tried to destroy the world. We don't want execute our own, it'll make our Garden look bad and who in the hell would apply to here once we execute our own? Nobody, do this fast and without notice. We don't want to drawl attention to you, we're sending out notices in a few days that our connection with you has died and is static."

"Why?" Quistis asked raising a single golden eyebrow, "What the hell does this have to do with anything?"

"Because if we can also say that you became a prisoner or war of some sort and you'll be near Trabia's land that's why. We also won't be blamed for any damages on Seifer, if you make some, because we can say he was captured too… Get the drift? We don't want to deal with anything that may inflict on our goal and that's to get Almasy and KEEP Almasy." Squall smiled, "Don't worry, you fail."

She nodded as Squall handed her the paperwork as he continued, "As you might know, Bakah is a town of sixteen hundred at the most, everybody knows each other and everybody has once in their life committed a life of crime. So that means whatever happens in Bakah, stays in Bakah, so if any of them knows a Seifer Almasy or Kris or whatever he's going by this week, they won't say. It's the honor policy; they didn't see and won't tell. So, if you want Almasy, you'll have to find him, yourself. Don't let the words "Balamb, Trabia" or any of the Gardens come out your mouth. There may be others there and… we don't want Almasy to scrabble away, especially when we're so close. Good luck and come back."

He winked, "_Kidding."_

He was in a good mood, she noted as she nodded and walked out with the paperwork in her hand. She finally reached her desk, swearing as she slammed the paperwork on top of other piles. She hated missions. An especially mission that dealt with Almasy because that meant somebody ass was always on the line and this time it was hers. She opened her eyes and glanced at the information of Bakah. "On the border of Trabia"

Shit. She was also near enemy lines, he forgot to mention it was a do or die mission. He probably didn't, probably didn't want to scare her ass into not going. Even though, she would because she had too. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples.


End file.
